


The ABCs of Sex With Sherlock Holmes

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Crossdressing, Docking, M/M, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn, Rimming, Rope Bondage, accidental feels, misuse of the alphabet for perverted reasons, smut and schmoop, voyeurism/exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: Sherlock was caught between his usual thoughtful frown and the helpless, I-still-can’t-believe-it smile he got whenever John kissed him. “Are you offering to teach me variants of sex, then?”John knew his own grin was bit more wolfish. “I am,” he vowed. “One for every letter of the alphabet.”





	1. The Alphabet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I know I haven't posted much in FOREVER but my writing dance card is overflowing. This is going to be a series of 221Bs (well, not the "B" part, but 221-word fics) where John introduces Sherlock to various porny things he's been missing out on :-D Irregular updates but hopefully at least once a week.
> 
> Note now that I'm done: 6001 doesn't *quite* divide exactly into 27 x 221, but I blame that on AO3 and Google Docs calculating what counts as "one word" differently - Google says I'm accurate. In case you were worried :-P

“I promise you, Sherlock, there’s more to sex than just penetrative intercourse.”

Sherlock looked dubious. He had reason to be, John supposed--he’d been a virgin up until the previous week. Then came the Culpepper case, and John was almost shot in his _other_ shoulder, and Sherlock hadn’t even waited until they got out of the cab home before tugging John closer across the seat and planting a hesitant but determined kiss in the general vicinity of his lips. The remainder of that night, and almost every night since, did wonders for curing John of any “I’m not gay” tendencies.

“I know about blowjobs,” Sherlock said. “And I suppose there’s always masturbation, if you count that as sex because it involves an orgasm. But you know this isn’t really my area.”

John leaned up and popped a quick kiss on Sherlock’s mouth. “I know,” he replied. “And I love teaching you new things. I haven’t yet found anything you can’t become an expert at if you put your mind to it, though.”

Sherlock was caught between his usual thoughtful frown and the helpless, I-still-can’t-believe-it smile he got whenever John kissed him. “Are you offering to teach me variants of sex, then?”

John knew his own grin was bit more wolfish. “I am,” he vowed. “One for every letter of the alphabet.”


	2. A is for arse worship

“Over the desk is perfect. I don’t want to wait.” John twisted Sherlock’s arm back--not high enough to hurt, but enough to keep Sherlock’s face pressed against the wooden surface. Sherlock was already panting.

They were both still a bit sweaty from chasing their suspect around Hyde Park, but John didn’t give a damn. The sweat made it better, actually--Sherlock may look unearthly and untouchable in that damn Belstaff and his three-piece suits, but underneath he perspired just like other poor humans. John ducked down to nose at the crack between Sherlock’s trousers and where his shirt had come untucked. Earthy and masculine and--he tried a little experimental lick--a bit salty. Sherlock _writhed_ under him, even when John abandoned his grip on Sherlock’s arms to better sink down to his knees and yank Sherlock’s trousers and pants off.

“I need-- _uunf!_ \--need a shower,” Sherlock protested, although not very convincingly.

“You had one this morning,” John reminded him. “Now shut up and let me concentrate. It’s important.”

Sherlock twisted around to shoot a curious look John’s way, but he couldn’t quite bend far enough without moving his hips, which John was _not_ about to relinquish. He stopped moving entirely when John palmed the two beautiful globes of his derriere and kneaded gently.

“God, your _arse_ ,” John breathed. “I will worship it forever.”


	3. B is for blowjobs

“No no, you just keep lying there ignoring me. You have a lot of thinking to do.” John climbed onto the sofa, straddling Sherlock’s legs, and tugged Sherlock’s pajamas and pants down to his knees. “I know it’s an important case. Don’t move.”

Sherlock held his pose, fingers still propped under his chin in what John privately thought of as his “prayer position,” but he eyed John with some suspicion. “You can’t possibly expect me to solve the case mid-coitus.”

John didn’t, but Sherlock was adorable when flustered and he was usually still flustered when it came to sex. He’d also been lying on the sofa all day and if John didn’t distract him he’d probably stay there until he got bedsores. “No hurry,” he told Sherlock with a cheeky wink. “I’m just gonna taste your prick for a while. Since you’re not using it and all.” And then he bent down and took Sherlock’s cock into his mouth.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and his cock immediately began to fill out. A second later his hand speared through John’s hair, but--without letting go or looking up--John caught it and shoved Sherlock’s arm up by the elbow. The _go back to how you were_ was implied. Luckily, consulting detectives were good at noticing things.

Sherlock solved the case the next day.


	4. C is for cross-dressing

John swirled through the door and immediately pulled Sherlock into a kiss.

“I have a-- _mmmm!_ \--surprise for you,” Sherlock gasped between assaults. He backed up a step and let his robe fall open.

John could only gape. Under the bathrobe, Sherlock was naked except for a pair of knickers. Silky, black knickers, practically translucent. The plump head of his cock was peeking higher and higher out the top the longer John looked.

Sherlock fidgeted. “I thought...”

“I’d be drooling? Close. Come here.” He dragged Sherlock to the stairs, then shucked off Sherlock’s robe and turned him around. “Don’t you dare fucking laugh.” John backed up a step, putting his cock directly in line with Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock ground back and moaned.

Going by feel, John slid his hands over Sherlock’s slim hips and down his inguinal crease. The silky texture felt _amazing,_ mostly because the body was Sherlock's. John closed one hand around Sherlock’s cock--the escaped part, anyway--and started teasing.

“John,” Sherlock groaned.

“Do you even know how fucking sexy you are right now?” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear. “And before you make assumptions, I’m not saying that because you look feminine. You look like _you_ and gorgeous as hell and I’m going to wank you through this thin silk until you come. Sound good?”

Sherlock shuddered and nodded. “Oh, _yes._ ”


	5. D is for docking

Sherlock reached for John’s hips, but John twisted away. “Just--try it with me? Please?”

“Why?”

“I saw it in a video once and it looked intriguing.”

Sherlock gaped at him. “You watch gay pornography?”

John raised one eyebrow. “We’re naked, and that’s _really_ what you get out of that statement?”

Sherlock looked back to where John had their cocks positioned tip-to-tip and shuddered. No more snarking. _Okay then_. John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and interwove their fingers, then brought their joined grip down to cover where the heads of their two cocks met. With a firm, smooth stroke, he slid their hands back and forth as far as the stretched foreskins would let them go.

“Oh, that’s… _oh_ ,” Sherlock stuttered. “John! It feels like I’m performing sexual intercourse with your penis!”

 _Only Sherlock could make that sound sexy._ The physical side of their nascent relationship was progressing as slowly as John could stand it--his own experience with other men was restricted to a handful of drunk parties at uni, and Sherlock’s history was even more sparse. Sex with Sherlock was an odd mixture of things John had never done--docking included--and things which were familiar but indescribably _better_ because they were with Sherlock.

“Good?” he asked.

Sherlock bent down to rest his forehead on John’s temple as John wanked them together. “Definitely good.”


	6. E is for ejaculant

“John, what would you say is your average refractory time?”

“Is that a come-on?” John gave up on the eggs and closed the refrigerator door. Toast for breakfast, then. “You can just _say_ it, you know. ‘John, I want to have sex with you.’ No need to trick me into it.”

“I was thinking experiment.” From the neck down, Sherlock was sprawled over his chair like a lanky, indolent cat. Above the neck, though, his eyes followed John with unnerving focus. “Need data to graph a function approximating the correlation of the interval between your orgasms and your volume of ejaculant.”

“No you don't.” John stared right back at his ridiculous, adorable flatmate-cum-partner. “You say you want me to teach you everything sexual, but you’re like a toddler with candy. If you eat it all at once you’ll make yourself sick.”

Sherlock pouted. “John, I want to have sex with you. And also measure the volume of semen you produce. We could vary the scenarios and positions and keep the interval between sexual acts to a constant, I suppose--”

“Sherlock.” John went over and kissed him firmly. “Timing our sex will make it less fun. However, if you want to let me come all over your gorgeous chest, you’re welcome to collect and measure my spunk as much as you want.”


	7. F is for finger-fucking

Sherlock moaned and arched his back further, grinding his arse up into John’s hand. John couldn’t resist the impulse to slap Sherlock’s bum in retaliation. “Be as loud as you want,” he reminded him, “but I’m not going to touch your prostate again until you hold still.”

His only answer was one of Sherlock’s eloquent huffs. Sherlock had a way of expressing volumes through that noise, even though his face was buried in John’s pillow and--other than the squirming--he was doing a decent job of letting John set the pace. He did stop pushing, though, so John swiped a second finger through the accumulated lube all up and down Sherlock’s crack and eased both inside.

“John!” Sherlock rolled his head back and forth, panting, but kept his hips frozen in place. “That feels… I can’t even describe it. Words, John! Part of you is literally _inside me_ and I can’t--no words.”

“Yeah?” John knew he probably had a smug-as-hell smile on his face, but it’s not like Sherlock was in any shape to be deducing it. “Tell me more about how it feels, then.”

Another long moan, barely muffled by the pillow.

“Shall I tell you how you look, then? Arse in the air, panting for it? Just a touch away from--”

_“Aaah!”_

“Found it.”

This was going to be good.


	8. G is for grooming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next few letters are going to be a multi-chapter arc, so hopefully I don't have to cut away from anything really good :-D

“We’ll both fit in here. I promise.”

Sherlock eyed the shower dubiously, but he shucked the last of his clothes and crowded in behind John. They didn’t fit _well_ , not with Sherlock’s long limbs and pointy elbows and imperious sniff when John pulled out his own shampoo instead of Sherlock’s pricey “Bain de Luxe,” but John finally got Sherlock positioned so they could lather each other up and steal a few kisses while washing.

“You’re too short,” Sherlock grumbled. “When I bend down to kiss you I get water in my eyes.”

“Let’s save the kissing for later, then.” John handed Sherlock the shampoo, then poured himself a palmful of body wash and set to _thoroughly_ scrubbing Sherlock’s back, arse, and thighs. Sherlock stilled halfway through lathering his hair.

“By ‘save for later,’ did you mean…”

“You’re the genius,” John countered. “Deduce it.” And followed the line of Sherlock’s spine downward with his tongue.

Sherlock shivered all over. “This isn’t--isn’t the good parts?” he squeaked.

“Getting there.” John dropped to his knees and commenced a firm massage of Sherlock’s gorgeous arse. “This is just the warm-up, you know. I want to get you _very clean_ for what I plan to introduce you to next.”

A loud, shaky breath. “What would that be?”

John nosed at Sherlock’s soapy-clean arsecrack. “You can’t guess?”


	9. H is for hedralingus

They tumbled into Sherlock’s bed in a mess of naked limbs and kisses. Neither wanted to stop for a proper toweling off, so Sherlock’s pillow was immediately soaked. “Reminds me of my Nan’s spaniel,” John teased. “It used to come in from the rain and spray water everywhere.”

“Less talking,” Sherlock grumbled. He rolled them both over, then flopped facedown starfish-style and wriggled his arse in the air. “You implied you’d perform hedralingus,” he whined over his shoulder.

The pose should have looked ridiculous, but it didn’t. Sherlock made everything look graceful - even naked bum-wriggling, apparently. “Most people call it rimming,” John countered. “I take it you approve of the idea?”

Sherlock was moaning piteously even before John got himself fully into position between those long, spread legs. John teased for a while, running his hands over Sherlock’s thighs and back and arse before leaning down to place a solid kiss on Sherlock’s right arsecheek. From there he took his time, venturing closer and closer to Sherlock’s hole. By the time his tongue was tracing the subtle topography of Sherlock’s rim, Sherlock was full-on wailing.

“Are you ready to feel me inside you?” John murmured against Sherlock’s skin.

A rustle from further up the bed--Sherlock nodding frantically.

“Good.” John sat back and grabbed the lube. “Let’s finally teach you some patience.”


	10. I is for intercrural

“That’s… that’s not--”

“Not where you want me?” John smeared another palmful of lube over Sherlock’s inner thighs and wiped the rest off on his own dick. He trailed his slippery finger over Sherlock’s hole one last time, making Sherlock’s hips jerk, before lining himself up over Sherlock’s thighs. “Keep your legs pressed tight together.”

Sherlock moaned and nodded into the pillow, already past words. John eased forward, between Sherlock’s slick thighs, and couldn’t hold back his own moan.

“God, Sherlock,” he breathed. “This is _amazing_ and we’ve only just started. How does it feel for you?”

A tiny whine, muffled by how Sherlock was mashing his face into the bed. John flexed his hips again. For all Sherlock’s wiry build, his thighs were muscular and warm and tight tight _tight_ around John’s cock. This little intercrural interlude was supposed to be for teasing Sherlock, but John was having a hard time not going off himself already, just from the sight of his brilliant flatmate practically incoherent below him.

“Gorgeous,” John murmured. “Look at you--still all flushed and damp from the shower, holding yourself so nice and still for me. Letting me fuck your thighs. That’s not where you _really_ want my cock, is it?”

Sherlock’s wet curls bounced back and forth as he rolled his head _no._

“Tell me--where?”


	11. J is for jumping Sherlock's bones (finally)

“Want you inside me,” Sherlock whispered. “John, want you, please--”

“I’ve got you.” John couldn’t help curling his own body around Sherlock’s taller one for a moment, a full-length embrace, but soon enough he rolled Sherlock over onto his back. The naked emotion on Sherlock’s face was almost too intense to look at. John focused on fingering him open the rest of the way instead, finishing what his tongue had started.

“Jooooohnnnn…”

When they were both too desperate to wait any longer, John hoisted Sherlock’s leg up and ducked under one pale, slippery thigh. The position gave him a mouth-watering look at Sherlock’s arse and well-laved hole. John’s hand literally shook as he lubed himself up and shifted into the right position.

“This is it, Sherlock.” Saying the words aloud made the occasion feel more solemn. They’d both be dreaming about it for years.

At Sherlock’s nod, John slid himself home.

 _Oh, great merciful fucking lovely..._ Yes, “home” was definitely the right word. In so many ways. Sherlock relaxed almost immediately, urging John further into himself with little twitches and the occasional tightening around John’s cock which had John literally biting his cheek to keep from coming embarrassingly early. Even with that, though, when Sherlock cried out and spilled all over himself three careful thrusts later, John couldn’t help but follow.


	12. K is for kissing

Given Sherlock’s usual disdain for sleeping, John half expected him to jump up and start analyzing their respective techniques. The octopus-armed cuddle was a surprise.

 _“John.”_ Sherlock hauled John up with an impressive show of upper-body strength and rolled them to their sides, pausing only to tug the sheet and duvet free and cocoon the two of them tightly together. John returned the embrace and allowed Sherlock to bury his head in the side of John’s neck.

It took a moment for the secondary realization to register. “Sherlock, are you… crying?”

Sherlock pulled away with a long gasp and flashed John a wobbly, damp smile. “Your observation skills are improving,” he murmured. “Ignore it--the tears aren’t intentional.”

If John ever got his hands on Mummy Holmes, he was going to strangle her. She was clearly the source of the “emotions are a weakness” bullshit Sherlock and Mycroft both tried to cling to. Instead of saying something potentially Not Good, John tugged Sherlock back into range and sealed their lips together.

The kiss must have been what Sherlock needed--he made a noise somewhere between a moan and a sigh and kissed back emphatically. It wasn’t libidinous, more a slow nonverbal confession in place of a vocabulary John suspected Sherlock didn’t even know existed. It felt like trust.

It felt like a promise.


	13. L is for "the L word"

“I love you.”

Sherlock’s eyes immediately went wide, like he hadn’t intended to let something so inexcusably romantic escape his mouth. If it hadn’t been for the sudden lump in his throat, John would have reflexively parroted the words back.

That wouldn’t have been good enough, though. He’d shared empty post-coital professions with partners in the past--occasionally even believed them, at the time--but Sherlock deserved better than a knee-jerk banality. Much better to return the sentiment through the kiss instead. He cradled Sherlock’s skull between his hands, paused so Sherlock could see the intent in his eyes, and slowly sealed their lips together again. The last kiss had been the finishing act in their first-ever penetrative experience; this kiss was the beginning of something else. A lifetime of something elses, if John had any say in it. With every touch, every movement, he willed Sherlock to understand his silent message. _I love you too I love you too I love you too I love you too…_

When they broke apart, it was by mutual consent. Sherlock lay there flat on his back, looking like he’d just been told John had literally hung the stars and was still somehow content for them to lie there side by side, their fingers entwined. 

Maybe it wasn’t too cliche to say the words after all.


	14. M is for making out

John should have expected Sherlock would dive headfirst into the whole relationship thing. He did it with everything else, after all, from paleontology to hypnosis. Nevertheless, it was still a surprise the first time Sherlock initiated an encounter. Especially since John was enjoying a nice Saturday afternoon nap on the sofa and Sherlock didn’t give any warning before climbing into his lap and sticking his tongue into John’s mouth. John’s first reaction was to flail himself awake.

Sherlock pulled away and pouted down at him. “John, I was attempting to instigate coitus. You prefer foreplay.”

“When I’m conscious, yeah.” John reached to grab Sherlock’s hips before the berk could swan off in a snit. “Hey, get back here. I didn’t say I don’t want to--you just startled me.” He considered postponing things to go brush his teeth, then decided Sherlock would have already said something if he minded morning breath.

“Well?”

“Impatient git.” John cupped Sherlock’s nape and drew him down for another, more deliberate kiss. Sherlock had to bend nearly double, but that didn’t impact his ridiculous ability to observe something only briefly and then reproduce it perfectly. In this case, that meant taking cues from all their previous kisses and combining them to devastating effect.

 _Damn._ “Yeah, okay,” John finally said when they broke for breath. “Coitus it is.”


	15. N is for nipple play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus endeth our schmoopy plot arc - onward to the smut!

John chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Sherlock tried to twist around and glare at him, but the effect was spoiled when John pinched his nipple again and he let out another long moan.

“You dismissed these as an evolutionary leftover, didn’t you? Something men have because the human embryo needs a blueprint for both sexes?”

“John,” Sherlock groaned. He pawed frantically at his cock, but John caught his arm in a cross-body hold and yanked it back out of wanking range. “John, it hurts!”

“Should I stop?”

_“No!”_

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” John licked his fingertips and traced Sherlock’s nipple again, letting the evaporation cool it to a desperate little nub. Sherlock was squirming, legs flailing… and not getting traction on the sheets even though John _knew_ Sherlock could have flipped them and gotten away. The theatre of objection, then. _I can work with that._

They’d discovered Sherlock’s exquisitely sensitive nipples entirely by accident - John’s morning stubble at just the right angle made Sherlock howl, then grab John’s head to drag his chin across the same path again. John also discovered Sherlock _loved_ having to beg for it.

That quickly devolved into John restraining Sherlock in a scissorhold and frotting against his side while Sherlock howled and thrashed ineffectively and then had the most explosive orgasm John had ever seen.


	16. O is for orgasm control

“I'm close!”

Sherlock immediately pulled off John’s cock and sat back on his haunches. “Two minutes ten seconds. Fascinating.”

John panted through the frustration until he could speak again. “Didn’t even… fucking look…”

Sherlock held up the stopwatch he’d been timing with. Sure enough, it showed just over two minutes. “Let me get this one down on the chart and then we’ll see how long your fourth denied ejaculation takes."

 _Fuck._ Three already... “You’ll actually let me come this time?”

Sherlock literally stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “You said I could gather data as long as you can handle,” he grumbled. “You still managed to stop me, so clearly we’re not there yet.” He slouched over to the desk to scribble furiously for a minute. John had no idea what all he was tracking, but was past caring.

And damn it, John _had_ agreed. His previous experiments with edging were limited to fifteen or twenty minutes total, though, not this all-evening marathon Sherlock had devised. Three rounds and already he was liable to go off if Sherlock _breathed_ on him the right way. Which Sherlock avoided doing, of course, because goddamn consulting geniuses and their body-language-reading skills when they actually bothered observing.

“How’re you doing?” Sherlock asked, rounding on John with a bright smile. “Ready to go again?”


	17. P is for porn

John awoke after a well-deserved nap to find Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table. That was unusual. Even more unusual was the fact that he had both laptops set up in front of him and was frantically taking notes. The noises coming from the laptops were awfully suggestive…

“Yes, obviously,” Sherlock said, not looking up. “I tried to start with your browser history, but it’s gone. You don’t trust me?”

“You’re the one watching porn on my laptop. Should I?”

Sherlock mulled that over. “I want to get better at sex,” he admitted, scribbling something indecipherable in the margin of his paper. “This is research.”

John came around to look. And _yep,_ there was some pretty kinky shit going on in both scenes. “So… in your _research,_ which position do you envision yourself in? And which one is me?”

Sherlock finally looked up at that. “I assumed you’d… _oh!_ You would? For me?”

“I’m guessing that was a ‘you would switch?’ and the answer is ‘yes, obviously.’” He almost laughed at the poleaxed look on Sherlock’s face. “What, you think you’re the only one learning new things here? You may be new at sex, but I’ve got a lifetime of heterosexual bad habits to unlearn.”

 _“John.”_ Sherlock blinked, then slammed both laptops closed. “John, it’s imperative we go have sex _immediately.”_


	18. Q is for quickie

“Sherlock…”

“She _did!”_

“Sherlock…”

“But I--”

“Shut up and follow me.”

Lestrade frowned as John dragged Sherlock away from the crime scene, but didn’t interfere. John waited until they were around the corner, then grabbed Sherlock by the nape of the neck and dragged him into the nearest loo. A single-occupancy one, thank goodness.

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh as John locked the door. “John, I highly doubt coitus will help me solve this case.”

“Oh, I know.” John unbuttoned his own trousers, just enough to pull his cock out. “But it’ll do wonders for how much bullshit I’ll put up with, so I’ll fuck your pretty mouth and we’ll see about after that, won’t we? Down on your knees.”

Sherlock hesitated, then complied. John wasted no time in lining himself up and maneuvering for a good grip on his impossible partner’s dark curls. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open at the first tug.

_Perfect._

Sometimes, when Sherlock was being a total arse, John had found that a shift in focus did him good. And one thing that inevitably made Sherlock focus on the here-and-now was choking on John’s cock. John could see the shift happening now, Sherlock being pulled fully into his transport. Although…

“There.” John pulled back. “Now you have to solve the case before either of us get to come.”


	19. R is for ropework

They’d started the evening slow, John on Sherlock’s bed softly stroking himself through his pants and Sherlock digging madly through the back of his wardrobe until he produced a sapphire blue rope with a noise of triumph. “Matches your eyes,” he declared. “Ready?”

“Explore away.” John shucked the pants and lay quietly in the center of the mattress. Sherlock clambered up beside him with significantly more grace than such a long-limbed gazelle deserved and set to work.

Some while later - John’s perception of time was non-existent - Sherlock sat back on his heels and looked thoroughly pleased with himself. That smile made all the aches John would have tomorrow worth it. More immediately, though, he had a raging hard-on that Sherlock had yet to touch.

“Not going to tie up my cock?” he hinted, just short of a whine.

Sherlock smirked harder. “Why would I do that? I like seeing that single part of you free to move. Especially when I do _this_.” He plucked at the ropes with the same pizzicato finesse he used on his violin. 

“Nngh.” He hadn’t been lying - the bindings weren’t painful, but John literally couldn’t move. All he could do was wiggle his toes, groan, and watch his erection bob up and down the more Sherlock teased. Never once touching it, the bastard.

“Please?”

“Mmmmm. Later.”


	20. S is for shaving

“John, I've another surprise for you!”

John paused in taking off his coat. Sherlock was wearing his robe and - judging from the vee of pale chest showing - nothing else.

“What type of surprise are we talking about?” he asked warily. “Is this the ‘I’ve been watching porn again’ kind, or the ‘I’ve contaminated the loo with flesh-eating bacteria and am offering to suck you off you won’t be as mad’ kind?”

Sherlock scowled. “Me performing fellatio on you had nothing to do with that accidental contamination. Which I apologized for. Don’t you want to see what your surprise is?” He shrugged the robe off, the movement drawing John’s eyes immediately to his cock. His very, very bare cock.

 _“Ngh.”_ John suspected he might be drooling.

“I shaved,” Sherlock declared.

John tried a few times to make words. “I see that,” he finally managed. “For me?” He dropped to his knees and rubbed his cheek on his partner’s entirely-hairless bollocks. The feeling was indescribable. “Jesus, Sherlock,” he whispered.

“Good?”

John licked a stripe from Sherlock’s iliac crease straight up the base of his cock. Sherlock’s eyes practically rolled back into his head. “Mmm, very good,” John murmured, then ducked back down to suck one of Sherlock’s balls into his mouth. Sometimes, Sherlock’s better experiments made the flesh-eating-bacteria ones all worth it.


	21. T is for turn-ons

The notebook was a posh one, leather-bound with a ribbon attached to the spine. John found it by accident while stumbling out of Sherlock’s bed early one morning in desperate need of a piss, when he bashed his shin on Sherlock’s bedside table and the notebook fell on his foot. Sherlock snored on--the berk had been up for nearly three days straight. He’d be out for hours yet.

Curiosity, though... John carried the notebook into the loo for more light. Sherlock wasn't the type to keep a diary, and most of his experimental notes were on spreadsheets on one or both of their laptops. John relieved himself first, then sat on the toilet lid when he was done and started flipping through it.

STIMULUS |  | S RATING |  | J RATING |  | NOTES |   
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
manual stimulation |  | 7 |  | 6 |  | John prefers a faster stroke, more pressure on the head. Room for self-improvement.  
fellatio |  | 10 |  | 10 |  | John's preferred method to achieve orgasm. He's very good at performing it, as well.  
anal intercourse--top |  | 5 |  | 7 |  | not my favorite, but John enjoys it. Acceptable.  
anal intercourse--bottom |  | 7 |  | 4 |  | Greater psychological impact than physiological.  
  
_OTHER SUCCESSFUL TURN-ONS:_

_Bondage_  
_Fingering_  
_Hedralingus_  
_Nipple stimulation_  
_Dirty talk (when it’s John talking)_

John shook his head, but he added one more.

_Sherlock naked / 10 / Damn sexy._

Maybe this list was a good idea after all.


	22. U is for underpants (the red kind)

“So why red?”

“Mmm.” Sherlock shrugged, practically boneless post-orgasm, but John knew better than to fall for the nonchalant act.

“Is it red pants in general, or _these particular_ red pants that get you so hot and bothered?”

Another shrug.

“I’ll go get my pajamas…”

“Fine,” Sherlock harrumphed, burrowing his nose further into John’s carotid. “It’s because they’re mine, okay? Or they were.”

“Uh...huh.”

“Not--” Sherlock groaned. The low vibrations tickled, and John’s poor overworked cock struggled limply to prepare for a round two. “They were _clean_ , obviously, but I’d never worn them and I… I thought you’d look good in them. I liked imagining it.”

“Me walking around wearing your pants?”

“My _red_ pants. Hidden under your beige trousers and your ugly jumpers.”

“Back before you knew I’d be just as happy wearing trace evidence of _you_ instead.”

"John! _Merde_ …” Sherlock mustered up the energy to flop himself more firmly over John’s right side, face still buried out of sight but with his thigh rubbing delightfully over John’s hopeful dick. “Slipped them into your drawer,” he admitted. “You don’t have an index; you never noticed they were new.”

 _Ha._ “I noticed, you big lump--kind of hard not to, when everything else I own is white or grey.”

“You’ve got those blue ones you keep at the back--”

“Bastard.” _Beloved._


	23. V is for voyeurism

John and Sherlock swung up into the attic as silently as possible. Below them, in the bedroom they’d vacated only just in time, their suspect, alias “Mickey,” came into view - followed closely by a younger blond man wearing half the glitter in London. He wordlessly shoved Mickey backwards onto the bed and straddled him. Sherlock groaned softly. “Wonderful, we’ll have to-”

“Ssh!”

The chances of their suspect hearing them were slight, given how much noise he and his date were already making, but John wasn’t risking it. The attic trapdoor hadn’t quite closed all the way and - in theory - either might notice. Sherlock inhaled, about to speak again, and John literally clapped a hand over his mouth.

“We can leave as soon as they’re gone,” he murmured in Sherlock’s ear. “Just stay quiet and wait, okay? You can, I don’t know - analyze their intercourse for proof of Mickey’s guilt or innocence.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he nodded. John maneuvered himself around behind Sherlock, caging him with his limbs as Sherlock knelt on the plywood floor, and couldn’t resist a bit of a grope. Sherlock shivered, so he did it again.

“I’m going to fuck you through the floor when we get home,” he breathed against Sherlock’s neck. "You think you’d like that? Watch and imagine how much better we’ll be.”


	24. W is for wall sex

Sherlock, thanks to his height, had better leverage to push John up against the wall the moment John came out of the bathroom all shower-clean and damp. Not that John didn’t get in his own counter-maneuvers, mostly instinctive, but his subconscious must have recognized Sherlock before the rest of his brain caught up because John’s moment of hesitation allowed Sherlock to pin him easily. Sherlock wore nothing but a manic grin, which was one of his best looks.

“I want to fuck you right here,” Sherlock breathed into John’s ear in the way that never failed to get John’s dick 100% hard in seconds. “Unless your refractory period needs time to catch up?”

“Berk.” John nipped at Sherlock’s collarbone in retaliation, because being short was bloody annoying and Sherlock loved to lord it over him. “With the amount of attention I pay to you, you think I’d have any inclination to still wank in the shower?”

Sherlock responded by tugging off John’s towel and slipping an already-slick hand between them. John widened his stance. The hand circled his cock, pumped him once, then slid its way down over his perineum to tease a fingertip over his hole.

“Not as flexible as I used to be,” John grumbled, but he hiked a leg up over Sherlock’s hip anyway. “For you, I’ll try.”


	25. X is for x-ray... or eXperiments

“John, which radiologists do you know?”

John frowned. “None; why?”

Sherlock continued to pace without answering, so John ignored him and went back to his book. Sherlock interrupted again a few minutes later. “How are you planning to call in a favor, then?”

“I’m… not?”

“Oh.” Sherlock flopped sideways into his chair. “But we’re so close.”

“Close to what?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The end of the alphabet! We’re on X, and _obviously_ that presents limited choices for sexual activity. I’d be curious to see the x-ray of us mid-coitus; it would be an interesting picture to frame and put on the bedroom wall.”

 _Christ._ The thing was, John could see it: Sherlock somehow bullying a tech into letting them get _in flagrante delicto_ on the table. It would definitely make for interesting viewing. Although… “I’m not really one for public sex, Sherlock. You know that.”

“What, then? ‘X-rated’ is too banal a term. ‘Xenerotica’ is sexual attraction to strangers; I presume your aversion to exhibitionism applies there too. And I doubt you’ve found a xanith, as the term refers solely to effeminate prostitutes and female impersonators in Oman. What--”

“How about ‘eXperiments?” John put his book down and prowled over to Sherlock’s chair. “Thought that one would be obvious, you bloody genius. I’ve got a few of my own planned…”


	26. Y is for yes

_Marylebone Road  
Come whether convenient or not - SH_

John grumbled the whole two blocks. _Needs a pen, or a kick in the arse?_ “Case?” he asked when he finally found Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled enigmatically. “Could be the most dangerous thing we’ve ever done.”

“That’s not encouraging.”

“Yes it is.” Sherlock led John up a short staircase, past iconic white columns… _Westminster council house?_

“Sherlock.” John firmly planted his feet. “Government building. Is this something that will get us arrested?”

“The contrary.” Sherlock attempted his I-know-best face, which rarely worked on John before and sure as hell didn’t work now. “Trust me?”

_Git._ “I do trust you.”

“Excellent.” Sherlock dragged John through the building at a near-run. “Our appointment is in ten minutes, but I estimated you’d need twelve to get over your reflexive reaction to--”

He kept talking, but John missed the words because it finally occurred to him why Sherlock had summoned him there. “Christ,” he interrupted. “Are we getting _married_ and you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“...No?” Sherlock winced. “Or rather, Mycroft refused to pull strings so we have to wait a month like everyone else. Just registering our intent today. If… if that’s okay?”

“Berk.” John pulled Sherlock in for a long kiss. “Leave it to you to try marrying me without even proposing first, but _yes.”_


	27. Z is for zipper trouble

The wedding was small, like John and Sherlock both wanted. Everyone other than Mike, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson--including parents and respective siblings--were relegated to the “surprise” reception Mycroft arranged at Angelo’s. Finally, though, John and Sherlock were back at 221B and alone for the first time all day. _At last._ John kissed Sherlock at the top of the stairs, then swept him up and carried him over the threshold.

“John, what--”

“Tradition,” John said, kissing him again to silence any more questions. “The last one before we get naked, I promise.”

Sherlock’s eyes visibly dilated at _naked_. He kissed John back, quick and desperate, then practically set to tearing John’s suit off. John attempted to reciprocate, but they kept getting in each other’s way in the unspoken race to get each other stripped first. It would have worked wonderfully if they hadn’t hit an unexpected--and literal--snag.

“John!” Sherlock tugged hard at John’s trousers. “I can’t--ow.”

John looked down. “Oh my god. It’s stuck. You got your ring stuck on my zip. I don’t even know how you did that.”

“It’s the lockpick compartment you custom-designed, obviously.” Sherlock scowled. “Useful, but will take some practice.”

Yeah, screw it. “It’s platinum. It won’t scratch.” John yanked Sherlock’s trousers and pants down triumphantly. “I win, though. What’s my prize?”

Sherlock smiled back softly. “Us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the Johnlock sex alphabet! *exhales loudly*
> 
> I promise I'll be getting back to Kinky First times, The Double Bluff, and Out of the Ashes as soon as I can. Probably Out of the Ashes first, since it's the closest to done and I owe KI10FUZZ a new sexy Mystrade fic from the "Fandom Loves Puerto Rico" auction. Here's a sneak peek of the upcoming fic plot: 
> 
> "D/s verse. Lestrade arrests a dom who then brags about his top-secret client list - including “a ginger bloke who pretends to be a non-dynamic, but secretly he practically runs the government.” Lestrade intimidates the dom into never telling anyone else, but he knows it leaves Mycroft in a bind. Surely he picked this dom because he NEEDS to let go sometimes to stay sane and he thought he could trust him not to spill secrets. Lestrade comes to Mycroft with an offer: until Mycroft can vet someone better (who doesn’t break the law and doesn’t blab), he’ll be happy to help..."
> 
> Oh, ALSO ALSO ALSO those of you who like M/M that's not strictly fanfiction, my new book comes out Monday 2/12! Not going to blather about it here because AO3 frowns on that sort of thing, but come find me on Twitter at @wendyqualls or at http://wendyqualls.com. Spoiler: hot guys, cute dogs, and a K9 search-and-rescue team :-)
> 
> Anyway, that's why my updates have slowed down some lately, but thanks for sticking with me on this now-significantly-longer-than-221-word alphabet journey!


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